


Hacker For Hire

by kidsinthestreet



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Blood, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Explosives, Gore, Gun Violence, Hackers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Technology, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidsinthestreet/pseuds/kidsinthestreet
Summary: After a narrow escape from Atlanta, a young woman settles down in San Francisco in hopes of renewing her second lease on life. Unfortunately, she befriends a man named Marcus Holloway whom shares an interest with her past self: hacking. Reluctant, she eventually agrees to help him and the rest of DedSec in their endeavors, but at a costly price.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! First, I would like to thank you for taking the time to check out my story. It's my first time posting, so hopefully you all enjoy it! Second, I want to give everyone a heads up: I plan to include some of the main campaign from the video game, but intend to switch things up. I don't want to bore gamers who are familiar with the title and make them go through it all over again; however, take this as a spoiler warning for anyone who decides to read and follow the story. Third, I apologize for any/all typos. I am posting from my phone, so this may take some getting used to. Sorry in advance!

Hidden on the outskirts of San Francisco stood a warehouse, once dilapidated and vacant until a new owner rebuilt it brick by brick. In the span of four months, construction crews visited the desolate cite to erect a tall structure similar to most buildings in the industrial sectors; however, not a single window allowed natural light to reflect inside. Aside from a fence with barb wire, the outside appeared plain compared to other locations: ones that boomed with activity and produced something of value. Instead, it remained quiet and free of life, all but the security guards that rotated posts across the lot. Each man was armed with a rifle, dressed in tactical attire in the event of conflict, and cursed innocent bystanders if they lingered too close. It was private property, evident by the number of signs posted throughout the cluster of trees that surrounded the vicinity. Still, many pondered the purpose of the newly refurbished warehouse since it was separated from society, where not even the police seemed to bother them.  
  
"D'you think it's a gang?" One teenager asked his friend during an adventurous hike, eager to investigate the ominous building before they were found by a guard. It took a single threat to send them running on their heels, leaving dust in their wake.  
  
"Nah," The other shrugged.  
  
Rumors of the warehouse spread like a wildfire. Some suggested it was used for secret testing, funded by the government to conduct illegal experiments on captured citizens in the region. Others claimed to have witnessed guards dragging people through the front door, bound by the hands with a sack over their head, never to be seen again. Conspiracy theorists preached an invasion: aliens touched down on Earth and the government used the warehouse to store them for observation. Gangs were convinced it had to be a drug or sex trafficking ring, meaning new competition would arrive on the streets. As time went on, the tales became more imaginative, but like most rumors, at least one had truth to it.  
  
Each level of the warehouse served a different purpose. The first was dedicated to the security crew: large men in bullet proof vests that were positioned in case of intrusion–others seated behind a counter, staring at the live feed that came in from cameras in and around the property. Not a single man knew what the other floors contained, if anything. One joked they were paid far too much to concern themselves with it, though it didn't stop an ongoing joke from spreading among the men. At the words of a stranger, the top floor became known as The Penthouse, where their main contact spent most of his time. Yet, any signs of luxuries were absent from the empty space. There only stood a walk-in freezer at the center, its four walls made of steel and perfect in dimension with two large bags on top: condensers, frequently churning to preserve what laid inside. The access door was locked tight and only one man had the code to enter, a man whose real name was lost on the security guards.  
  
Unlike the floor around it, the freezer was anything, but bare. Inside were rows of shelves, holding rolls of blue tarp with rope fastened to hide the stench of deceased bodies. In the middle of the freezer stood a table, the top of it lined with various tools: needle-nose pliers, ball-peen hammer, folding chainsaw, adjustable wrench, chisel, corkscrew, and even a jar of table salt. The appliances themselves were covered in the blood of past and recent victims, both young and old–the most recent being a young woman whom hung next to it. Both wrists were bound together by rope, hanging on a meat hook. She dangled mid-air, her toes barely touching the floor. Her eyes bloodshot and swollen, she struggled to remain conscious.  
  
What has he done to her? What is it he is searching for? Although she suffered the excruciating pain and belted out the piercing screams, it was too difficult for her to recall what had been ripped from her body or what the man wanted. All she knew was exhaustion, how sore she was, and the way her mouth ached with each ragged breath she inhaled through bruised lips. She shivered in the cold, her skin a pale blue from lack of clothing. Next to her feet sat a pile of clothes forcibly removed with a pair of shears: shirt, pants, as well as socks and shoes. The man left her in a black lace bra and red boy shorts before he informed his newest victim he intended to lower the temperature, if only as an act of encouragement to help her think of the correct answer. The longer she took, the more likely she would succumb to hypothermia, leading to an untimely death.  
  
"I…" Mist billowed from her mouth, allowing her to see the shaky breath in the frozen atmosphere. She wanted to relax, to remain calm, but she had to talk. Otherwise, she was damned to a slumber, one she may never wake from. "Focus," She sighed, her heavy eyes looking around the room, at least to the distance her drooped head would allow. She couldn't lift it. It was too heavy, she thought, yet too light from the amount of blood she had lost.  
  
From her chin and down her chest, she was covered in blood. The taste of iron was fresh in her mouth and she remembered two teeth were no longer in her gums. No, they were removed, exposing roots that were packed with salt to increase the agony and distress. She must have blacked out before the second tooth had been pulled. If she angled her head, she could see them on the table; opening her mouth, red drool seeped through the corners of her dried lips. It slid down her chin and into her cleavage, though she couldn't feel it. She was too tired, too numb from the compressed air and horrific pain.  
  
"Stay awake," She told herself, "Y-you gotta stay awake." Drawing in a breath, she tilted her head back and winced at the dim florescent light that hung overhead, trying to use her weight to pull on the hook that stretched her arms and shoulders. "Stop… Tried that already. S-save your energy," She stammered, teeth beginning to chatter.  
  
It took everything in the woman to steady every sharp breath, but the anxiety crept in once more when distant footsteps echoed outside of the door. They grew closer, louder, and followed the rhythm of her frantic heartbeat, yet she continued to soothe her mind. Staying calm was her only option. She refused to die in this godforsaken hell created by man. A fucking freezer. _How much time has passed?_  
  
The footsteps came to a stop outside of the door and, through blurred vision, she watched the door open as it spun with the rest of the room. In entered a man clothed in black, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her.  
  
"N-no," She slurred, words muffled by her puffed cheeks.  
  
" _Shh… It's alright._ " The man's voice was soft, if not sweet. It was enough to draw her attention to his face, but it took a few slow blinks for her eyes to adjust to the darkened figure. It was him, it was her father. Tears instantly welled in her eyes, threatening to irritate the gashes across both cheekbones. " _Don't cry, P. Daddy's here, you're going to be fine_."  
  
For some reason, she found comfort in his hushed tones. It was the same soothing voice he used when she was a child–the days he used to search the closet for monsters and scare them out from beneath the bed. When he would sing songs or read stories until she fell asleep, before placing a kiss on her head and slipping out of the bedroom window. She never understood the reason why he refused to use the front door or acknowledge her grandparents, not until she was much older. Nonetheless, it worked like a charm. Her breaths were no longer short and frequent, making it easier to control.  
  
"D-daddy," She sobbed, reverting into a young child whom slipped off her bicycle and needed a band-aid. "Help me, h-help me. G-get me out of here," She struggled to speak coherently through the taste of blood and swelling gums. The man stepped closer and placed a hand on her head before a kiss landed on her forehead. She could feel the warmth of his calloused palm and his breath, sighing in relief to know she would be freed from the frozen hell.  
  
" _I can't_ ," He sighed heavily, starting to walk around her dangling frame. " _I tried to warn you, P. I told you a day like this would come. You promised to stop_ ," He continued. She sensed the disappointment in his voice, even in the softest of whispers; she felt small in his presence. " _You remember what happened the last time I tried to save you, don't you?_ " All she could do was nod in spite of the ache in her neck. Was she strangled? No, she was burned across the nape.  
  
" _What happened?_ "  
  
Ever so slowly, she inhaled another shaky breath and her eyelids fell shut, head lowering. "You died…" To say such a thing, especially to her father, was far more painful than any torture she endured. In fact, it was a regret she lived with daily for the past ten years. Now she had to face him, to confess her sins on the eve of her own death, and it was all her fault. "I'm so sorry…. I-I should have listened! I'm sorry!" Her voice cracked and the tears flowed, but it didn't matter. When she opened her eyes in search of him, he was gone. The door was no longer open.    
  
Perhaps she deserved it, to be slain at the hands of her killer, a man she thought she knew. After all she had done, the crimes she committed, each and every road would have led to the moment she was captured and driven to the destination eternally known as her final resting place. She didn't deserve the chance to say goodbye, to bid farewell to those she grew to love, or the friends she made along the way. No, this was it for her, at least that was what a familiar voice suggested.  
  
" _Close your eyes_ ," It whispered. Disoriented, she easily recognized the source as her mother, earning another sob from the young woman.  
  
"I can't," She tried to reason aloud. "I can't fall asleep."  
  
" _It's okay, sweetheart. You'll feel better if you just rest. The pain will be all gone if you close your eyes_."  
  
"Y-you-re right… Just, just for a minute. I'm so tired, mom, so tired."  
  
" _There, there. It's almost over, love, it's almost over_."  
  
Her struggle against the rope and hook ceased, as did her controlled breaths and wild heartbeat. She closed her eyes and drooped her head–snapping upward when she feared the oncoming sleep, but it was of no use. She was exhausted, nor did she wish to fight any longer. If she wished to conserve energy, there was no other choice than to close her weary eyes, to let her mind and body rest. It was the least she could do because soon, soon she would be digging in on pumpkin pie and turkey again. A sad smile formed in her mouth and, finally, she gave in.  
  
As she began to follow the hum of her mother's voice, just as she started to drift to a sweet slumber, an explosion violently rocked the building on its foundation, the clatter of tools jolting her awake. Gasping, her eyes snapped open and she looked around, her arms swaying with the vibration of the freezer.  
  
"Wrench!"


	2. Chapter 2

**FOUR MONTHS EARLIER**

"Stop right there!"

Black boots climbed the stairwell in pursuit of a masked woman. In the minutes she was identified as an intruder, she created mass confusion amongst the ten security guards on duty; four found unconscious on different levels. The alarm hadn't been tripped and there were no signs of infiltration, nor did anyone suspect a thing. If not for one man straying away from his nightly post, she would have gotten away unnoticed with no evidence in her wake. It was him: the wandering guard that radioed his fellow team and the police to inform them of the cloaked figure, dressed in black with her face hidden behind a mask. However, by time he disconnected from the chatter, she managed to gain access to the rooftop with the use of a stolen identification card, presumably one belonging to an unconscious guard.

"Who the hell is this bitch?" One huffed in awe, impressed by how quickly she assessed the layout of the rooftop and approached with finesse. It was then the few men realized they were dealing with a professional, someone with a purpose, but what could she possibly want? Aside from a laboratory on the lowest level, it was nothing more than an office building. It was the cause of many dull nights while on the job, until now.

"Get back here!"

The demands fell on deaf ears as they watched the woman vault over a rail down to a lower platform, putting short distance between herself and the eager men. Once thought to be coffee-loving, doughnut-eating pigs, she was surprised to discover the guards were capable of keeping up. Not only that, but they didn't hesitate to jump over rails and hop gaps after her. It was a cause for concern, though she focused on one thing and one thing only: escape.

Before she snuck into the building, the woman studied the location and the other structures around it. Weeks of preparations went in to the heist and not a single detail was missed, including a layout of the rooftops: a feat possible courtesy of her drone. The information obtained during phase one allowed her to prepare for neighboring sites, to scale walls and leap one to the other, to overcome any obstacle that might have gotten in the way during her exit strategy. What she hadn't anticipated was the agility of the men on her tail.

Distant sirens wailed down the avenues of Market Street, growing with each twist and turn in direction of the office complex. Determined, she refused to slow down. If anything, her jumps became more clean and precise, she reached and hopped higher, her grip stronger despite the scrapes on each palm. Yet, it wasn't enough—the men continued to gain. She was foolish to assume she would have given them the slip, especially when she realized she had underestimated the increasing distance between each rooftop.

The masked figure skidded to a halt on the final building she had taken aerial footage of; the next was five floors too short. Was this it? Had she reached a dead end? Worried, she glanced to see the men not far behind, as well as the red and blue cruiser lights now in sight. Taking a moment to contemplate her options, she tried to figure out what to do next. She could surrender, she entertained. Although she would have to face the consequences, it would have been easier. Her body would be forgiving in custody of the police as opposed to a full cast laid in a hospital bed, shackled to the safety rails. Then again, she had come so far! How could she give in now? She wouldn't. Not without a fight or a one way ticket to the morgue. The latter seemed far more pleasant than being sold for a container of ramen noodles, chicken flavored no less.

Cursing underneath the mask, she assessed the situation before taking a number of steps back. Gaining forward momentum in her stride, she launched from the ledge and barely made contact with the next, but just enough to roll shoulder first in order to absorb shock from the rough landing.

"Holy shit!" She panted, rolling on to her back in spite of the gravel beneath her. Joints shaking with adrenaline, she laughed in disbelief. It wasn't often she stretched beyond limits, but it was a trip out of her comfort zone to protect the flash drive zipped away in her pocket. It contained copied files uploaded from a computer in the laboratory: an intrusion the employees would never detect.

Carefully, she moved to crawl to her feet, a hand tending to an achy shoulder that was bound to punish her in the morning. It was worth it, even more when she noticed a ladder down the side of the building.

Before she touched bottom in a vacant alley, her phone started to ring.

______________________________

High in the sky was a full moon, its bright face illuminating every dark corner of the Bay Area. There wasn't a cloud in sight to block its shine or the stars dotted around it, allowing it to reflect in the deep water below. Away from the building lights and busy streets, it was the perfect location for one to view constellations, to bask in the ocean breeze and breathe in the fresh scent of salt water. For many, the cliff sides were too dangerous to explore, but there sat Charlotte Harper above sharp rocks, both legs dangling over the edge as the air tickled her exposed feet. With her eyes closed, she focused on the sound of hypnotic waves gently crashing against the cliffside, only to retreat and wash upward once more. A light breeze enveloped her, causing wild, curly strands of hair to brush at the nape of her neck—wisps crowning each corner of her mouth. If she wasn't careful, the momentary peace would be enough to rock her to sleep.

With a hand buried inside the pocket of her denim jacket, two fingers traced the flash drive to ensure it hadn't disappeared in thin air. After all, she went to extreme lengths to secure it and the information which filled a greater portion of the available space. She couldn't help but touch it, to clutch it in the palm of her scraped hand and release it once more. Rinse, wash, repeat. There was no need to worry, knowing very well it wouldn't vanish in thin air, but she was anxious to see what the files contained. Would it finally lead to an answer, or a clue to send her on another wild goose chase? After everything she went through in the past four months, she needed a break. She needed more than a bone to rest easy, to stop putting herself in dangerous situations which could lead to incarceration or worse, death. But it was impossible, nor could it be helped.

A single text message sent the woman into a curious frenzy, one that led to an obsession hidden from close friends and clients. During the day, she was a hardworking woman whom coached young men and women in parkour and self-defense. At night, she was crippled by anxiety, locked away in the comfort of her townhouse and glued to her computer. What social life she had ceased to exist, all but for one friend she kept in touch with, at least until she stopped reaching out all together. It was for that reason the familiar voice took her by surprise when she reluctantly answered his call once she scaled to the bottom of the fire escape, ducking out of sight from oncoming officers and angered security guards.

_"Let's meet tonight. Usual spot?"_

The request raised an internal alarm considering she was left with one option when the call ended before she could decline. She had more pressing matters to tend to, but she couldn't leave an old friend hanging, especially not Marcus Holloway.

  
When was the last time she and Marcus retreated to the cliffside? It was where the two used to meet to hide from the thriving streets of Oakland, to discuss ideals without fear of eavesdroppers. More often than not, it was a safe haven for the duo to sit back and relax, share a few drinks after a stressful day. It went against her code of conduct since she trained him, but it was inevitable once their identities became apparent to each other; having crossed paths on the same network, she hated Marcus at first. She knew him behind a computer screen, the last thing she desired was to know him face to face.

Looking back on it, she vividly recalled their silly pipe dreams. All the talk about how they wished to start the next revolution, to expose corrupt agencies and illegal practices of those whom took advantage of the American people. On the edge of the cliff, they daydreamed about ending decade long wars in exchange for a period of peace, all with a single key stroke. Not to mention, it was there he failed to make a move and kiss her, much to her disapproval. Both inebriated, she laughed before he could steal the gold, nudging him away to finish the remainder of her drink.

_"What are you doing?!"_

_"Well, I--"_

_"I'm old enough to be your grandma."_

_"The hell? You're only five years older than me, Charlie."_

_"Good to know you can count, sonny boy."_

Heaving a wistful sigh, she longed to return to the days before everything changed. Before she was driven into sleepless nights and multiple bags of potato chips that were too greasy to ignore. The smile she wore faltered, changing into a small frown as she tried not to think about it, the past and the flash drive that could devastate all that she knew. Just as she began to dwell, footsteps cascaded in her direction over the sound of crashing waves. Impossible to fight it, the bright smile returned to her features as she looked behind her shoulder to catch sight of the young man making way down the rocks. Slowly, she stood to her feet to greet him, hands on each wide hip.

"Well, well, well! If it's not Marcus Holloway himself. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The young man mirrored his friend's smile once he reached the leveled surface. Without skipping a beat, both arms wrapped around her frame into a warm embrace.

"It's good to see you, Chuck!" Not a second wasted before he utilized the nickname she loathed, hence the reason he called her it. He was the only person to use it after he learned of her love for _The Peanuts_.

"It's good to see you, bud!" Her words were muffled by his vest, face buried in the material across his shoulder. Groaning, she tried to breathe through his increasing grip. "You're squeezing me."

"Shh... It's been a while. Just enjoy the moment."

"No, Marcus... My boobs," She choked out, "You're crushing my boobs." With a laugh, the two withdrew from the bear hug and ever so casually, she readjusted her shirt and the bra underneath it. "How are you? It's been, what, a month?"

"One month and twenty-two days," Marcus corrected with a shrug of his shoulders. "But hey, who's counting? Then again, it's not every day your best friend disappears and decides to change her number without telling you first."

"Point taken, sheriff!" A wrinkle formed in the bridge of her nose and guilt infested the pit of her stomach; raising both hands, she surrendered. Has it really been that long? "I'm sorry. Things have been a little hectic on the business front, but still, that is no excuse for being a neglectful asshole. Will you ever forgive me?"

"Hmm..." Marcus contemplated, tapping an index finger against his chin for added effect. It was unfortunate the two grew apart after years of constant touch, but could he blame her? Each of them were busy with personal matters which made it difficult to spend time together, even more when Charlie became invested with issues he was unaware of. He trusted, one day, it would come to light. "Ah, why not? Besides... Who else am I going to share these with?" With one hand, Marcus removed the bag across his back and set it on the ground, opening the flap to retrieve two bottles of beer.

Charlie's eyes widen once she saw the label beneath the moonlight, the sight of it earning another wide smile from the hermit. It was their favorite beer, or at least the same brand they purchased for meetings atop of the cliff. It was a nice touch, she thought, a nostalgic reminder for their small reunion.

"You're always so good to me," She confessed, claiming one of the bottles for herself.

"I know."

Caps removed and tossed, they gently tapped the bottle necks, commemorating the reunion with a 'cheers' in unison. Such a simple gesture made it feel like no time passed at all.

"So how ya been, Chuck? Staying out of trouble?"

She knew very well what he was referring to, especially with the cocked brow above the frames of his square glasses. How much did he hear while she was racing down the fire escape?

"You know me," She muffled, her smirk hidden by the mouth of the bottle she held tightly—the rings she wore dinging against the glass. "Taking it one day at a time! Busy with work... mostly."

"Mhm," He hummed, the tone accusatory. "So you were going for a routine jog when I called earlier?"

"Sure! I gotta stay spry for my clients. Can't let old age slow me down!" She smirked. "How about you, hmm?"

"Wait, speaking of old age," He began, moving to the edge of the cliff for a seat. "Don't you have a birthday coming up?" He asked, lightly patting the spot next to him.

"Aw, you remembered," She smiled, slowly sinking down next to him, wiggling her toes in the wind. "Gotta go easy on me, sonny," She groaned, trying to get comfortable. "Don't try and change the subject! How's everything going? Fill me in, what have I missed out on?"

A dismissive hand tried to wave off the topic, but she pressed on. Now that they were side by side, she felt how much she missed his active presence in her life. Therefore, she wanted to hear all of it: the good and the bad, every development in his life that happened since the last time they spoke.

"I'm good," He finally said, his words unconvincing. "Shit is a little crazy right now, but you know what? I'm doing good."

Raising a curious brow, she glanced at him from over the bottom of her bottle, tilting it back for a generous swig. "Crazy, you say? Color me intrigued. Go on, Charlie is listening."

"I don't know where to start, Chuck." Sighing, he focused on the contents of his own bottle — his eyes steadied on what to say next. On one hand, he didn't want to engage in an argument with the bullheaded woman, but if he wanted her to work with him, there was only one place to start: at the beginning. "Have you looked into cTOS 2.0 recently?"

"Yes. It's causing quite a stir on some networks with recent document leaks. Dangerous, for lack of better wording."

"It is," agreed Marcus, downing what remained of his beer. "In short: cTOS categorized me as a suspect in a crime I didn't commit. I was punished for something I wouldn't think twice of doing, all because of probabilities, because of the skills I worked hard to master."

"Fuck... Are you serious? I'm sorry, Marcus, had I known--"

"Don't apologize," He interjected, shoulders hunched forward as he looked down at the waves. "It's not your fault. If there's anyone to blame, it's Blume and their fucked up system. They collect all of their information through digital footprints and security cams, then categorize men and women if they do so much as purchase a cup of coffee. Can you imagine what it'll do to the rest of the country if it goes beyond the test phase?"

It was a rhetorical question, one she acknowledged with a frown, but not a single word. She knew not to interrupt him during a tangent; his words were full of anger and passion.

"They convinced--no, _brainwashed_ \--the people to believe it's better than ever, stronger and more capable of keeping them safer than the previous system. Except the only difference is that it's worse, Chuck. It's a fucking weapon."

"But are you surprised?" Charlie shrugged, tapping a ring against the side of her bottle. "After what Raymond Kenney did... then Aiden Pearce, he started something when he seized control of cTOS in Chicago and exploited its weaknesses. Of course Blume repainted it to gain people's trust and earn their dollars again. Now Pearce is considered a terrorist in a city he tried to save. That doesn't bode well for the rest of us."

"Do you know what this means?" He asked, standing to his feet. Holding out a hand, he helped Charlie to her feet once she consumed the rest of her own beer.

"It means you're going to do something about it." It was a fact. She knew the young man well enough to see their gathering was more than a social call, but she feared what else he had to say. "What are you thinking, Marcus?" She asked, digging into his bag for a plastic bag to dispose of the empty bottles.

"I want to stop them." _Called it_. "I want to tear down each and every brick that has built cTOS 2.0, including all of the corrupt assholes that have invested in it and the man controlling San Francisco. I want to show our people the truth."

"And?"

"And...I need your help, but it's not just me." His words cautious, he was unsure of how she would handle the following statement. If there was anything he learned about Charlie, it was her disdain for hacker groups, specifically DedSec. When she uncovered the betrayal about the Council of Daves in Chicago, she grew vocal about her hatred for their ethics, between the propaganda videos and obscene street art. But it wasn't only them. It appeared she was against the idea of working a score with anyone, including him. Still, he was nervous. If there was anyone's opinion that mattered to him, it was hers: someone he once viewed as a mentor. "I joined DedSec."

The calm expression she wore contorted at the words. Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, and the corners of her mouth turned down into a deep scowl. Rage reflected in her green eyes, the intensity matching each strand of her dark red hair which faded into rich orange down the shafts, mimicking fire. _Here it comes_ , he winced, but there was no amount of preparation to dodge the incoming smack to the back of his head—his hat falling off, glasses loosening behind his ears.

It was like being scolded by his mother, except in the form of a short, angry, curly-haired, Black-Caucasian woman.

"Are you kidding me?!" Charlie hollered, fists clenched at her sides after she delivered the blow. If they weren't standing so close next to a cliff, she might have continued to try and slap sense into him, but the last thing she wanted to do was "accidentally" push him over the edge. Despite her fascination with the series, she didn't need to become an episode of _Snapped_. "You used to talk about it, but come on! Do you not remember what happened in Chicago? They were a bunch of--a bunch of..." Her words trailed off, transforming into a foreign language he failed to translate given the speed she vented in.

"It's different here, Chuck! We're not divided like they were in Chicago," Marcus stressed in an attempt to calm her down. "We're unified because we respect one another, because our actions represent the people of this city—actions to liberate every single one of them. We're unified, because it takes more than lethal force to make a change. Already, people are standing up to support and join our cause!" He proudly boasted. "But the truth is, we could use your expertise."

"Are you listening to yourself?" She took a step closer, hands on her hips as if she had to size up her friend whom stood a few inches taller. It was a defense mechanism Marcus had seen before, one that appeared more intimidating than last time. "It sounds like you've rehearsed a whole sales pitch, it's nauseating."

"Maybe," He shrugged, the smirk still displayed across his mouth. "You can't argue with the fact that we share the same goal. We used to talk big about all of the things we wanted to achieve. We sat right here and talked about all of the bullshit that is wrong in this city and taking down all of the corrupt bastards responsible for it. That's something we can do together, Charlotte, _with_ the help of DedSec."

Slack jawed, her mouth fell agape and she whipped her head toward him, blinking. "Did you just... Did you just fucking call me Charlotte?" To add insult to injury, she found the use of her full name infuriating when spoken by anyone, even more so coming from him. In that moment, she preferred Chuck, something she would never confess.

Amused, Marcus no longer hid the smile threatening to escape now that defeat washed over the older woman. "Come on, think about it. You know I'm right, Charlie."

"Careful," She sneered, pointing an index finger at him from where she stood. "You're standing on the wrong side of the cliff to be pushing my buttons, buddy."

"Why are you against teaming up with a group? You already coach people and risk broken bones every other day."

This time, it was her turn to flip a dismissed hand. "Parkour and self-defense, that is what I do. You hear that? _Self_ -defense, which defeats the purpose of working in groups. It's different than getting chummy with people who can easily betray and stab you in the back if a better opportunity comes along."

"So... let me get this straight," He shifted his weight to one foot, hands moving along with his words. "Jumping off of rooftops, most of them skyscrapers, is safer than trusting people with the same common interests and goals as you. Doesn't that sound backwards to you?"

 _Logic_. Of all things, Marcus had to be wise enough to use logic on her. It was true: Charlie felt at ease in the sky. Up there, she was invincible, away from the dangers which lurked behind every man and woman. Yes, she acknowledged the risks. One false move or miscalculation and it could all end. Yes, it was the same concept as trusting people enough to work with them. She had her own reasons not to partner with anyone, though she claimed to work better alone when seated behind a monitor. Was it true? Maybe, but she hadn't tried working with others to see the difference. She was brilliant on her own, that much she knew and was praised for by paying customers.

"I'll think about it, alright?" Sighing, she moved to her shoes next to the edge and slipped back inside them. "Can't make any promises, but that much I will do. However, I am warning you right now, Marcus: if I agree, I am charging you for every minute of my time, got it? You know I'm not cheap."

"Don't I," He chortled. "Hey, where do you live now? Still in that dingy apartment down by the beach?"

"Oh no, no... I'm not telling you," She shook her head from side to side as she started to make way toward the trail near the cliff. "I'll never be able to get rid of you."

"You wouldn't dream of it!" Marcus grinned, following close behind.

Silence fell over the two until they reached the dirt path created by years of walking to and fro. Fresh footprints and a bicycle tire disturbed the earth after months of being untouched.

"Who gave you my number anyway?" She asked, swinging one leg over the powder blue bicycle, nudging the stand back with her foot.

"My mom..."

"Dammit," Charlie cursed to herself. Just the other day, she met with his mom for brunch. Now the woman betrayed her, proving her theory correct! _Mothers_ , she silently grimaced. "Go home, Marcus. I have a class in the morning, but I'll give you a call with an answer. Maybe."

Before she could ride off, he approached the bike, pride swelling in each step trotted toward her. Part of her wanted to reach out and wipe the smirk from his face with a dirty napkin, but she allowed him to wear it for the time being.

"Here," He held out a slip of folded paper and tucked it in the pocket of her jacket. "Meet me at this address tomorrow. I'll introduce you to everyone and we can discuss details there. If you don't like what you see, well... no harm, no foul. Even if you help, you're not obligated to stick around once all is said in done, ok?"

His genuine concerned for her comfort was sweet, yet frustrating. It made it difficult to be annoyed with him, knowing it would be even harder to decline his request for help. It wouldn't be the first time she assisted him with something, but none of it compared to what he and DedSec were up against.

"Be careful on your way home," She smiled, patting his shoulder. "Might be mountain lions or bears or coyotes around here. Hell, maybe even curses." With both feet on the pedals, she carefully pushed downward to follow the trail home. "White people love their curses."

______________________________

Wearing a smile, Marcus watched his friend disappear over slopes that led down to the main street. Never in a million years did he imagine he would survive smart mouthing at Charlie, a woman who threw a punch with force equal to a boxer. But there he stood, tall and proud of conquering his greatest foe yet. Alive to tell the tale, he picked up each earbud draped over his shoulders and pushed them back in his ears, clearing his throat to indicate they gone their separate ways.

"Damn... she does not like us, does she?" asked Sitara.

"She sounds hostile," Josh chimed in.

"Y'all heard that?"

"Heard what?" Wrench's modular spoke, disguising his voice. "The pitch in frequency when she slapped you, or cursing us in Swahili?"

"Nah, the part where she agreed. Don't worry, she'll meet us at the garage tomorrow," Marcus said.

"That's not what she said," Josh added. "I believe her exact words were: I'll think about it."

"No, I mea-- actually, you're right, Josh, that is what she said." Chuckling, Marcus shook his head at his hooded friend, though they were neighborhoods apart. "I'll see you guys at home base."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked the chapter! Stay tuned, there is much more to come.


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